


재연 (an encore)

by jacksmannequin



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottoming from the Top, Concerts, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, heechul is his usual self, panicked gay hyukjae, power bottom yesung, rock singer yesung, slight praise kink, usual yehyuk business, yesung being a confident gay and hyukjae being a disaster gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksmannequin/pseuds/jacksmannequin
Summary: “You’re staring,” he says, as if Hyukjae doesn’t know.“You’re staring, too.”“Yeah, that’s what I came to the show for,” Heechul says with no ounce of shame in his voice. “You, on the other hand—”“How do you think he likes his eggs in the morning,” Hyukjae blurts out all in one breath.or,Heechul drags Hyukjae to a local punk show to hit on the band’s guitarist, and Hyukjae gets more than he bargained for in the form of one Kim Jongwoon.
Relationships: Kim Jongwoon | Yesung/Lee Hyukjae | Eunhyuk
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	재연 (an encore)

“You owe me big time for this,” Hyukjae says, glaring at the empty stage for no reason.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Heechul says back without missing a beat, then shoves an elbow in Hyukjae’s stomach. Staring at his suffering figure in satisfaction. Hyukjae absolutely _loathes_ him. “You didn’t even pay for it—I gave the ticket to you for free.”

Hyukjae sneers just for the sake of it, then lets out a heavy sigh. “You could’ve asked Donghae.”

“Donghae is busy with his girlfriend,” Heechul says, and Hyukjae thinks there’s no need to sound that pissed off, but fine. “I already told you that. You were literally my last choice.”

“And you couldn’t come by yourself?” Hyukjae glares at the microphone stand. Because of course Heechul wanted front row. Small venues are his nightmare. No barriers, no distance—just the stage literally at your arms’ height. At least in the back it would’ve been easier to, well. Pretend he wasn’t there. As much as punk music gives him headaches, he’s not _that_ rude. He wouldn’t act like he hates it right in the band’s face. He has manners. It’s just that life never works out for him. Ever. “No. You had to drag me here. When I hate it. And you know that I hate it.”

“Yah, you’re so melodramatic, seriously.” Heechul rolls his eyes with so much intensity it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck inside his brain. “It’s just some good ol’ punk rock. You can survive without your computer-generated sounds for a night.”

“It makes my head hurt,” Hyukjae whines, because he doesn’t care if the people around him hear him. He’s really sad about it. What are you even sad for if you can’t drag everyone else down with you? “I wanna go home and listen to my jungle terror playlist.”

“As if that’s not headache inducing,” Heechul says, clearly annoyed. “How do you even come up with that stuff? Is that even a thing? You’re just making things up now.”

“It’s Dutch. Look up Wiwek and have some fun.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Heechul seems to finally take pity on him, and his expression softens just a bit. Enough to let Hyukjae know whining _always_ works with Heechul. Because he’s a sap. “Whatever. Just pretend to enjoy it, and then I’ll treat you to whatever you want when we’re done. On top of paying for your ticket. Okay with that, your highness?”

Hyukjae grins at him, his suffering forgotten for a second at the idea of free Taco Bell.

“You’re the best, hyung. I love you so much.”

“Shut the fuck up,” is Heechul’s diplomatic response. He shakes his head and leans on the barricade with a frown on his face. “Who knew trying to hit on a guitarist would cost me so much. Dating is so complicated these days. When I was young—”

“Hyung, you’re twenty-nine.”

“I said, when I was young—”

Hyukjae tunes him out for a long moment, too focused on his words. Somehow, it’s not a surprise that Heechul isn’t here for the music. He definitely likes his rock loud and obnoxious—or, at least, according to Hyukjae’s really delicate loudness scale—but he also likes his men to be involved in the loud and obnoxious. It was a bit suspicious that he would go to the extreme length of convincing Hyukjae of all people to come with him just for some local show in a random Hongdae club. If anything, now he’s curious to see this guitarist.

“—like, in college, we just knocked on doors and said, hey, wanna have some fun? Now, it’s Tinder and all that, and I honestly think I should be cut some slack.”

“Sure,” Hyukjae says, even if he hasn’t heard a single word of that. He lets his arm drape all over the stage, almost elbowing some guy next to him in the shoulder, and grins at Heechul. “So, should I know this guitarist?”

“Oh, who, Jungsoo? He’s a friend of Ryeowook, he introduced me to him like last week, but he had stuff to do and I didn’t get the chance to jump him,” Heechul rattles off, missing the way Hyukjae’s face is looking definitely ten times more interested than it did two minutes ago. “Why?”

“No reason,” Hyukjae says nonchalantly.

Heechul’s eyebrows furrow. “Try to hit on him and you’re dead.”

“I’d like to know if he has one foot in the grave like you first,” Hyukjae deadpans.

Heechul offers him a sweet smile that looks like murder. “He’s the same age as me, so you can put your claws away.”

“Ouch.” Hyukjae pretends to shudder. “Condolences.”

“You’re not immune to me beating the shit out of you just because you did me a favor, are you aware of that?”

“Yes, hyung,” Hyukjae says peacefully.

“As long as you know,” Heechul says, even more sweetly and even more menacing at the same time.

Heechul shuts up for a moment, and Hyukjae watches him as he stares at an undefined spot of the stage without really seeing it. He certainly wasn’t planning to hit on Heechul’s newest crush, not really. He just feels like he deserves to have some fun, given the position he’s in. He doesn’t even know the name of this band—he’s just there, desperation and lack of sleep on his titties, waiting to die.

The elder, on the other hand, seems way too excited for his own good. How charming does this Jungsoo have to be for the mighty Kim Heechul to put up a search party for him? Well, Hyukjae and his whining are hardly a search party, but for Heechul’s standards they might as well be. Kim Heechul does not seek out people.

Hyukjae’s eyebrow shoots up when the elder lets out a dreamy sigh.

“Okay,” he eventually breaks the silence—although it was hardly silence, what with all the increasingly drunker people walking around the venue, but it felt like it—and stares right at him. “Are you in love with him or something?”

“I only met him once,” Heechul says, but there’s some kind of spark in his eyes that betrays his words.

“All right, fine,” Hyukjae says eventually, deciding to drop it and change the subject. He’s not getting any answers out of him. Might as well give up and focus on surviving the night. “When does this thing start? My knees are about to give out.”

“You’re a whole dancer,” Heechul points out, and the snark is back, at long last. “Stop whining.”

“I’m just saying,” Hyukjae whines instead of stopping, just because Heechul tried to make him stop. “We came here way too early.”

“Shut up and deal with it, Hyukjae. Really. You’re so fucking annoying.”

“I’m concerned.” He scoffs, then glares at his hands. “I don’t want to get home late.”

“Oh, right.” Heechul blinks, and Hyukjae’s first thought is _now what._ “Donghae said his girlfriend is spending the night and that you need to steer clear of the apartment until tomorrow. You can crash at my place.”

“Oh, that asshole,” Hyukjae groans, hiding his face with his hands and letting his arms fall along his sides immediately after. “He acts as if the name on the lease isn’t mine. Can you go back in time and threaten past me, so he doesn’t agree to being roommates with him? I want him out.”

“Nonsense,” Heechul just says.

“So basically I have to stay away from my own place to stay with you and be a witness to you and this Jungsoo dude inevitably fucking one room over?” Hyukjae pulls a disgusted grimace. “It keeps getting worse.”

“It’s either that, or the same thing but heterosexual with Donghae,” Heechul says, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Hyukjae pretends to gag. “Pick your struggle.”

“I hate you,” he just says. “Can you answer my question?”

“What?”

Hyukjae sighs. “When do they play?”

“Like, um,” Heechul glances up just as the lights start to dim. “Now, I think.”

“But the opening band hasn’t played yet.”

Heechul looks at him as if he grew a second head in the meantime. “Jungsoo’s band is the opening band.”

“You did not just drag me here for an opening band—”

“Shut up. It’s starting.”

Hyukjae closes his mouth, taken aback by the fact the room is now two seconds away from soaking into darkness. Of course there had to be something else that was going to make him mad. The _opening band._ They’re not even the headliners? What is Heechul planning? Does he want to leave right after? He was the one who spent money on it, but still, like—why. And, also, generally opening bands always suck. Or at least in Hyukjae’s experience. That’s why they’re opening and not performing when the night actually starts. With exceptions, but mostly. Anyway.

Some guy walks out on stage and starts fiddling with a bass guitar and two amps. Hyukjae blinks. Now it makes sense why Heechul would want to come so early. Because, for the record, Heechul is never early for anything.

If the music sucks, Hyukjae is going to walk right out and leave him there to fend for himself.

He glances back, then blinks again, surprised to find the room is much busier than it was last time he’d checked. It’s actually way more crowded than he thought it was going to be, and now being in the front feels just a tiny bit suffocating. He huffs to himself, determined to get through it unscathed.

A guy holding an expensive looking guitar appears to Hyukjae’s left, and Heechul visibly lights up next to him. So—that has to be the mighty Jungsoo. Hyukjae stares at him for a couple of seconds, and he doesn’t really see the hype, but whatever. That’s Heechul’s business.

The bass guy from earlier has stepped up to a mic stand, crossing off the chance that he could’ve been some venue worker, and now that he’s closer Hyukjae can spot his whole figure. Learning that he’s wearing a cardigan that looks like it came out of his grandfather’s closet doesn’t help.

“Hyung,” he whispers, nudging Heechul’s side with his arm. Heechul interrupts his staring-at-Jungsoo session to send him an annoyed glare. “Are you sure they’re a punk band? That guy looks like my Biology professor from high school.”

“That’s what Ryeowookie said they play,” Heechul says, then goes back to staring at the stage.

“What does Ryeowook have to do with this?” he asks, but he gets his answer when he looks up and sees the drummer sit down and grab two drumsticks. “Hyung?”

Heechul sighs but doesn’t turn around this time. “ _What_?”

“Ryeowook is in the _band?”_ he whispers again, though this time it comes out as more of a hiss of sorts. Why is it that hard for Heechul to give full context when he talks about things? “I thought he said he was done with that after Henry broke the duo and left for Canada.”

“He’s fucking the bassist,” Heechul says.

“Cardigan dude?” Hyukjae also says.

“Cardigan what?”

“Holy mother of Jesus and what is holy,” Hyukjae breathes out.

“Be glad Siwon isn’t here,” is Heechul’s unhelpful response.

Hyukjae lets out his heaviest sigh—actually an impressive feat when dealing with Heechul, since you never know when your most desperate sigh will come and sweep you off your feet—and surrenders to his faith. Watching a questionable band playing questionable songs from a questionable genre with cardigan wearing dudes and the guy Heechul wants to fuck. And Ryeowook, for some reason. Seriously, why is he always the last person to learn things? He has to have the shittiest circle of friends ever conceived during mankind’s existence.

“Hello,” a voice says over the speakers, and just as though Adele herself had stepped on stage to utter that single word, Hyukjae looks up and just about dies on the spot.

“Hyung,” he snaps under his breath, stepping on Heechul’s foot on purpose. Heechul doesn’t yell, but it’s close, and they earn a nice number of glares, but it doesn’t matter right now. “Who is _that_?”

“Fucker,” Heechul says under his breath, considerably lower in volume this time, and Hyukjae’s eyes widen. “Considering he’s front and center, probably the frontman? Idiot.”

“Thank you all for coming,” probably-the-frontman says, a guitar slung across his torso, and Hyukjae’s eyes widen even more. “I know most of you are here for the headliners, but I appreciate you guys showing up early. I promise we’re not gonna go over our scheduled time so to spare you the agony.”

That last sentence earns him scattered laughs from all over the reasonably sized crowd, and Hyukjae finally remembers his eyes aren’t supposed to do what they’re doing, so he blinks and listens to Heechul laughing next to him.

If it was any other person saying that, Hyukjae would’ve been entertained first, and amused that at least they’re self-aware second. Sadly, though—his brain is too busy processing other things at the moment.

The guy’s lips curl up in a satisfied smirk at hearing the crowd’s reaction, and Hyukjae can’t help but notice the way his eyes go with it—as if _they_ were the center of his smile, and not his mouth. It lights up his whole face, and Hyukjae is about to _die._

They kick start into the first song—an instrumental one, from the sound of it—and Hyukjae would like to say he’s hearing what it sounds like, but he’s really, really not. All the song is spent staring at the stage, ears closed off, eyes wide again, mouth busy trying not to drool.

Because, honestly? Whoever this guy is, he looks like a goddamn _dream._ Heechul doesn’t even seem to notice what’s going on in Hyukjae’s brain—and thank God for that, since he’s too busy doing some staring of his own—and Hyukjae keeps all of it mostly into his head.

His hair is dyed white, which—okay, bold fashion statement, but it suits him so much that Hyukjae isn’t sure he could imagine him with any other hair color. His actual fashion is also questionable at certain points—a way too large t-shirt from some band Hyukjae doesn’t know, and an also way too large black blazer over it, who does that—but he pulls that off, too. It looks amazing on him. Hyukjae is convinced that if he tried that look, he would look homeless.

“Hyukjae,” Heechul whispers in his ear, waking him up from his reverie, and then, not satisfied, elbows him in the side.

“What,” Hyukjae snaps, luckily remembering he’s not supposed to yell it out. On stage, the band is still riding out the last riff, and it belatedly sets in that the song doesn’t sound punk in the slightest, but Heechul interrupts his train of thought before it can reach an actual destination.

“You’re staring,” he says, as if Hyukjae doesn’t know.

“You’re staring, too,” he says, because what the hell.

“Yeah, that’s what I came for,” Heechul says with no ounce of shame in his voice. “You, on the other hand—”

“How do you think he likes his eggs in the morning,” Hyukjae blurts out all in one breath, and the song ends.

The crowd politely claps, and Hyukjae just barely makes it in time for it not to sound out of place.

“Thank you,” probably-the-frontman says, his voice somehow sounding even more attractive than it did just minutes earlier. It sounds like being enveloped in silk, and Hyukjae can’t even _process_ how it would sound like if he sang with it. “We should probably introduce ourselves, shouldn’t we? Promo? Networking. Or what they call it these days.”

This time, Hyukjae laughs with the rest of the room. It wasn’t even that funny. Maybe endearing, in a dorky sort of way. Or maybe it’s the smirk he still has plastered on his face as he talks, like he isn’t taking himself too seriously. Hyukjae really likes people who don’t take themselves too seriously. Like, really, really likes.

He needs a cold shower.

He misses the name of the band, and only blinks himself conscious in time to learn cardigan dude’s name is Kyuhyun. Not that he cares about cardigan dude. Although Ryeowook does have some explaining to do.

“And I’m Kim Jongwoon,” probably-the-frontman says, and okay, maybe now Hyukjae can stop calling him that. Kim Jongwoon. The frontman. He takes a deep breath, and Heechul looks at him with an eyebrow raised, which Hyukjae promptly ignores. “This next song is a cover. Just because our catalogue is short and why the hell not.”

Hyukjae’s next move is shoving his elbow into Heechul for the seventh time.

“I know this song,” he whispers under his breath, panicked, because he knows it involves some sort of husky screaming at some point, and he’s going to die if Jongwoon does it that with _that_ voice. “This isn’t punk rock in the slightest, where the fuck did you hear that?”

Heechul slaps his elbow away, destruction in his eyes. “That’s what Ryeowookie said.”

“Are you sure he didn’t say art punk?” Hyukjae whispers again, terrified that someone’s going to yell at them to shut up. No one does, thank the gods for that. “Because I don’t think you know the difference.”

“What the fuck is art punk?” Heechul says without even looking at him.

Hyukjae’s life sucks.

One glance to the stage and he feels all the blood in his face going somewhere else. Jungsoo is hitting that guitar like it’s the last thing he’ll do, and Kyuhyun has got a groovy bassline going on in the mix, but Hyukjae barely notices _that._ For all the song might be familiar to him, his attention has been stolen by only one thing—Jongwoon’s singing voice, which, honestly? Somehow, it might be even more attractive than his face.

It sounds so fitting for the song that Hyukjae is pretty sure he will never be able to think of the original in the same way. The band is a bit rough around the edges, probably due to the lack of experience playing as a group they seem to have, but Jongwoon’s voice ties everything together so well that the slight awkwardness isn’t even obvious unless you do your best to focus on the backing sound. Which Hyukjae only manages to do for approximately five seconds total before he’s sucked into the spiral of Jongwoon’s voice again.

It’s gritty and aggressive, but still controlled somehow, as if Jongwoon knows exactly what he wants to do with it—and he isn’t afraid to show it. He almost never strays out of his comfort zone, but when he does, it’s just barely noticeable. As though he doesn’t really have a comfort zone, and everything’s at his mercy.

Hyukjae isn’t aware he hasn’t taken his gaze off him for almost the entirety of the song until Jongwoon’s eyes meet his during an instrumental break, and Hyukjae can instantly feel his soul leaving his body. Then Jongwoon’s lips curve into that confident smile, the same one he’s been showing the crowd ever since he appeared on the stage, and he suddenly _knows_ his whole face is blushing. Oddly enough, Jongwoon’s smile grows a bit wider, more amused, and that’s the curse of small venues, isn’t it? Nothing would’ve happened if only Heechul had let him lurk at the back.

Things never go the way he wants them to go, though, so that’s where he is. Front row, being scrutinized by the owner of the hottest singing voice Hyukjae’s ever witnessed live, and he can’t look away. Lord knows he would like to, but Jongwoon keeps holding his gaze, and Hyukjae doesn’t think he could deny him the contact even if he had any desire to.

Then Jongwoon kicks off the next verse, the magic breaks, and Hyukjae starts breathing. Only to be caught under the spell of his voice again.

“He’s so good,” he mumbles to no one, and Heechul doesn’t hear it, but that’s fine. He’s not really making any sense at this point.

The scream he knew was in the song and that he’s been waiting for ever since Jongwoon opened his mouth comes, and it knocks the wind out of his chest. The crowd seems more engaged now, more interested even, and he wouldn’t rule out the possibility of a moshpit starting at some point, and yet—his attention is still elsewhere. On the same person.

He tries not to notice the visible strain in Jongwoon’s neck as he sings, but he does. He _so_ does.

“And fuck Tom Brady!” he sings along before he can stop himself, earning looks from just about the entire first and second row and also Heechul.

Jongwoon smirks at him again.

Great.

The rest of their set is a blur after that, Hyukjae’s brain crushed under the inevitable weight of embarrassment and shame, and Heechul is of exactly zero help. What do you do when the person you’re with is completely ignoring you to ogle one of the musicians on stage? You ogle another musician, also on stage.

And you try to do it subtly.

Too bad Hyukjae wouldn’t know subtle if it smacked him right in the face.

“So, what’s the tea on Tom Brady?” Heechul asks, leaned against the stage.

Hyukjae’s head jerks up. “What?”

“The tea on Tom Brady,” Heechul repeats.

“Um,” Hyukjae says. “Did you just say ‘the tea’?”

“What do you kids call it these days?” he says, then turns around and makes the face he does when he doesn’t care about the topic at hand anymore because something better has come along for the ride. “Oh, I just saw them walk up to merchandise. We need to go.”

Hyukjae swallows the lump in his throat, suddenly very eager to stay where he is. “But we’ll lose our spot in the front.”

“Who cares? I’m leaving after this. I don’t even know who the headliners are.”

“Right.” Hyukjae swallows again. “Well, I know your home passcode, so I’ll see you when you come—”

“Absolutely not,” Heechul cuts him off, then grabs his wrist and yanks him away from the stage with so much force he almost trips and falls face first into some guy’s chest. “I need support.”

He rushes out a half-assed apology and curses Heechul out in his head, struggling to keep up with the way he’s dragging him across the room like he’s a stuffed doll. This isn’t good. Jongwoon is probably there, and Heechul can definitely be embarrassing when he wants to, and this is absolutely, one hundred percent, not good.

“What support?” he tries to say, almost bumping into a girl on his way to the stage. “You’re Kim Heechul. I’m just a peasant. You don’t need me.”

“What’s your problem?” Heechul’s walk of shame comes to a screeching halt, and it’s a miracle that Hyukjae doesn’t trip all over him. Heechul fixes him in his place with a glare. “Don’t you want to hit on that Jongwoon guy? You were practically foaming at the mouth for the entire set. At least I admit it when I want to get someone into my bed.”

Hyukjae stares at him, mouth half open. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s kinda out of my league,” he croaks out.

“Nonsense,” Heechul says with a voice that leaves no room for complaints. “You’re hot when you try. Now, let’s go.”

Hyukjae opens his mouth again, but Heechul just shakes his head and marches straight to his destination with Hyukjae’s wrist firmly secured in the hold of his fingers, making him wish he’d never gotten out of bed in the morning.

Cardigan dude—Kyuhyun, was it?—is talking to someone at the furthest end of the merch stand, while Ryeowook is the first one to come up to them and say hi, but Hyukjae is so distraught he doesn’t even remember he was supposed to ask him about—well, everything. He’s going to get mad at him when his brain isn’t being shaken around in a frying pan.

Heechul’s eyes light up as soon as they spot Jungsoo, and Hyukjae instantly knows Heechul’s Casanova face when he sees it. It’s spectacularly easy to decide he doesn’t want to get involved. He just has to find a way to slip away from the commotion _very_ quietly and pretend he was never there in the first place. Luckily for him, Heechul steals Jungsoo’s attention really quickly, and he doesn’t even have to introduce himself.

He doesn’t start to calm down until he’s put at least a bit of distance between himself and the crime scene, and it’s only then that he realizes the person he was most freaking out about meeting wasn’t even there.

“Looking for someone?”

Hyukjae lets out a yelp and just about jumps out of his bones.

“Huh,” he says without turning around. A hand rests on his shoulder, and just—what did he do wrong in his past life? “No.”

“Press X for doubt,” Jongwoon says. He seems to realize Hyukjae has no intention of turning around to face him, because he takes it upon himself to walk past Hyukjae and plant himself right in front of his face. And the situation goes from worse to catastrophic. “Hello.”

Hyukjae swallows, hyper-aware of the warmth of Jongwoon’s hand on his shoulder. “Hi.”

“You know,” Jongwoon says, and rest assured, Hyukjae does not know, “I’m glad at least someone in the crowd knew that song.”

“I like that kind of stuff,” is Hyukjae’s lame response. Good one, brain. Really. “From time to time. Um.”

Jongwoon’s smile almost knocks him out. “Good to know.”

Hyukjae nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Jongwoon’s hand is still on his shoulder in all its glory, and he’s starting to think that maybe he’s sweating a bit.

“My name is Jongwoon, by the way,” he says when he realizes Hyukjae’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

“I know,” Hyukjae says, because he’s the dumbest motherfucker on Earth, apparently.

Jongwoon smiles again, and Hyukjae’s breath stills for a second. It’s softer this time, almost. Endeared.

“Right, I said that on stage,” he says, as if Hyukjae didn’t just make a fool out of himself two seconds ago. “I was trying to get your name out of you, honestly.”

“Ah.” Hyukjae blinks. “Hyukjae.”

“Cool,” Jongwoon says, then takes his hand back. Hyukjae blinks again, trying his best not to look disappointed. “You’re friends with Heechul, then?”

“Yeah,” Hyukjae says, then clears his throat. Jongwoon’s eyes drop down for a second, sending a shiver down his spine, but the moment is over just as quickly as it came. “I think he wants to seduce your guitarist?”

“Who, Jungsoo hyung?” Jongwoon lets out the cutest laugh Hyukjae’s ever heard and shakes his head. “Tough nut to crack, that one. Good luck to him.”

A giggle escapes his lips before he can control it, and as weird as it sounds, Jongwoon’s face lights up. A blush creeps up Hyukjae’s neck, his mind frantically trying to find something to shift the focus on something else.

“Jungsoo hyung?” he asks eventually, happy to have found something to say. “Isn’t he the same age as Heechul?”

“Yeah, but I’m younger than Heechul.” Jongwoon raises an eyebrow, amusement written all over his features. “Do I look that old? Fuck. My face masks aren’t working.”

Hyukjae chokes on his own breath, stealing another smile out of Jongwoon.

“I’m, uh. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Jongwoon says, looking even more entertained than he did before. If he starts laughing at him, Hyukjae will absolutely die. “I’m twenty-six, by the way.”

“Well, that’s not much younger than Heechul hyung,” Hyukjae blurts out, only to look terrified immediately afterwards. “Oh, God. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jongwoon shakes his head. “You’re definitely something, aren’t you?”

“I’m—” Hyukjae bites his bottom lip in confusion. “I think?”

“Wanna step out for a bit?” Jongwoon says, catching him off guard. “The headliners are starting soon, I think. And it’s hot as hell in here. Unless you want to see the show?”

There’s something different in Jongwoon’s eyes now. The ghost of the smile that’s always on his lips hasn’t left yet, but his gaze has grown more serious. More focused. Jongwoon’s giving him an easy way out, and, Heechul now completely out of his thoughts, Hyukjae could take it. He definitely could. He’s not even sure _what_ exactly Jongwoon wants from him right now, but even the possibility of it being what he’s thinking is too tempting. Scary—but tempting.

Jongwoon’s glancing at him with that unreadable look of his, probably aware of Hyukjae’s internal debate. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. That piercing stare suggests all kinds of knowledge—an intuition that Hyukjae would die to explore in another setting. The mere idea sends a shiver down his spine right then and there, and he knows he’s done for.

He tries not to let it get to him, but he might as well have given up at the start, because he fails instantly.

He fails, shakes his head. Follows him outside.

The June air is warm against his skin when it surrounds them, together with the increasingly dark atmosphere of the night. The area isn’t empty—some people are smoking their last cigarette before heading back inside, some are just passing by, completely unaware of the hammering of Hyukjae’s heart in his chest. A girl is laughing hysterically over her friend’s shoulder, clearly drunk off her ass. In any other situation, Hyukjae would be watching over the scene, maybe laugh too, entertained by the way her friend keeps teasing her and pretending to let her fall to the ground.

He could do that, but Jongwoon’s presence next to him keeps on pulling him out of it. Making all his senses wake up and watch, alerted, simply waiting for a sign from the older man. Whatever that sign may lead to, Hyukjae doesn’t know. The thrill of not knowing only leaves him even more on edge.

“Hyukjae-ssi,” Jongwoon says, scaring him to death, then smiles to himself. Hyukjae’s glad at least _someone_ is having fun. “Relax.”

Hyukjae takes a deep breath. Two can definitely play this game.

“Fine,” he says, doing his best not to look away when their eyes meet. If he focuses hard enough, he can probably feel his own sweat before it even starts forming. “There’s no need to be that formal, Jongwoon-ssi.”

“Then just call me hyung,” Jongwoon says, his trademark smile back on his lips. Hyukjae swallows but doesn’t back down from his stare. “Hyukjae.”

“I guess,” Hyukjae mutters nervously, but still determined to stand his ground. “Hyung.”

“Good.”

Jongwoon’s eyes narrow, but his face remains playful. The atmosphere is significantly heavier between them now, unless Hyukjae is dreaming it—and he’s really, really sure he isn’t. It might be the fact it’s still hot even outside—so much that Jongwoon has lost his blazer at some point, and Hyukjae didn’t even notice—but that’s clearly not the case.

“So,” Hyukjae says, breaking the silence. The drunk girl in the distance isn’t in the distance anymore. Her friend probably decided to be responsible and take her home—and Hyukjae’s secretly disappointed at the sudden lack of distraction. “How do you know Ryeowook?”

A stupid question, sure, but useful. As long as it gives him more time to think about what the fuck he’s going to do next.

“He knows Kyuhyun, and I know Kyuhyun, I guess.” Jongwoon does a weird gesture with his hands that Hyukjae really doesn’t know how to interpret. “Well. Knows is an understatement.”

“Heechul said they’re fucking,” Hyukjae says before he can think it through.

The laugh that Jongwoon lets out catches him completely off-guard, but it’s a sound that seems to light up the entire street. Hyukjae weakly smiles in return.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess they are,” Jongwoon says, stifling the leftover giggles that keep escaping him. Hyukjae tilts his head to the side, hoping with all his being that his face isn’t flushed. Why would it even be? “Kyuhyun and I—we work together. We’re songwriters at the same company. This is mostly to relax in the weekends. That sort of thing.”

“You’re really good, though,” he says, because, apparently, he can’t control his mouth anymore. “For the genre, I think. I mean—yeah.”

“For the genre?” Jongwoon raises an eyebrow. “Not a fan of it? And to think you seemed to enjoy yourself in there.”

“I just, um.” Hyukjae shifts his body weight from one foot to the other. “I like really specific things. Usually.”

“Like what?”

Jongwoon definitely wasn’t that close to his personal space before, but he’s not sure he actually minds it.

He’s not sure about a lot of things tonight.

“Um,” he says again, following Jongwoon’s subtle movement with his eyes. There’s no doubt about him being closer now. His skin feels on fire. “Dutch electronic music?”

“I see why punk isn’t your genre,” Jongwoon says. His voice has dropped at least two octaves lower, and it’s doing things to Hyukjae’s ability to stay focused. “If it makes you feel better, Kyuhyun only writes ballads for work.”

“That explains the cardigan.”

Jongwoon barks out another laugh. It’s considerably louder this time around—nothing like all the times he’s laughed in Hyukjae’s presence so far, and it’s clear something has shifted. What, though, he still doesn’t know.

“Quite the sharp tongue you have there, huh?”

Hyukjae is three seconds away from breaking out in cold sweats.

“Sorry.”

“For what? I like it. You should let it loose more often.”

“Well,” Hyukjae tries, milking the small amount of poker face he has left dry, “it’s always loose when I’m with people I consider friends.”

“Then I suppose we should become friends,” Jongwoon says casually, his arm just barely brushing against Hyukjae’s. And Hyukjae perfectly knows that there was nothing unintentional about it. “Don’t you think?”

Hyukjae cocks his head to the side, desperately trying to radiate confidence he one hundred percent does not have. “If that’s what you want.”

Jongwoon giggles under his breath, then deliberately lets their arms touch further than just tiny gusts of air being shared between bodies. Hyukjae does his best not to shiver. Wondering when he became so easily impressionable.

“There are a lot of things that I want,” Jongwoon says, his voice low, lower than anything he’s tried so far, and Hyukjae swallows the want that keeps bubbling up in his throat away. “For example, to know the other specific things that you like.”

“Ah.” Hyukjae glances at their arms, still on edge about the skin contact. “Um. Bass heavy trap.”

“Interesting,” Jongwoon murmurs, just as his fingers brush against the back of Hyukjae’s hand. Leaving him breathless for an excruciatingly long moment. “What else?”

“Sinister sounding music,” he continues, trying to keep it together. He knows Jongwoon noticed what’s going on in his chest. There is no way he hasn’t realized his heartbeat hasn’t been completely regular for ages. “Witch house. That sort of thing.”

Jongwoon nods. “So, whisper-like vocals.”

“Yeah,” Hyukjae lets out. “You could say that.”

Jongwoon hums under his breath, his eyes so firm on Hyukjae it feels as if they’re piercing right through him. Hyukjae struggles to hold his gaze, but Jongwoon doesn’t look away. Waits it out.

“Interesting,” he says. Whispers it. Hyukjae licks his lips, doesn’t miss the way Jongwoon’s eyes follow the gesture. “Quite the combination of styles.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t trust his voice right now.

Jongwoon doesn’t seem fazed by his lack of reaction at all. There’s silence for a few seconds, and it’s so agonizing that Hyukjae can almost hear a clock ticking in his head. Neither of them does anything to change it. His heart threatening to escape from its cage and get lost, Hyukjae makes the mistake of swiping his tongue across his bottom lip again.

Jongwoon sees it, maybe takes it as an open door, Hyukjae doesn’t know. All he knows is that suddenly his entire personal space is Jongwoon, his hands on his hips, his breath mixing with his own, their foreheads almost touching—and all he can do is freeze on the spot, eyes wide and his pulse spiking up.

“I have to ask,” Jongwoon mumbles, clear enough to be understood, but low enough to shoot electricity down Hyukjae’s spine. “Am I misreading this?”

Hyukjae shuts his eyes for a moment, hyper-aware of Jongwoon’s breath grazing his skin. Of the delicate weight of his hands on his hips, his fingers digging into his sides with just enough force to keep him pinned to where he is, but not quite at the same time. A middle ground. Weak enough that Hyukjae could sneak out of it, if he wanted to. He knows Jongwoon is giving him another way out. One he doesn’t want to take.

“No,” he lets himself say eventually, prying it out of his throat as if a word so short hurt to free it. His vision clears, and everything is Jongwoon again. “No, you’re not misreading anything.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now,” Jongwoon says then, his voice barely above a murmur, and Hyukjae meets him halfway.

He knows they’re alone now, but his brain doesn’t give it a second thought anyway. Jongwoon’s hands spread open on his hips, more determined—and it’s no longer a hesitant offer now. Nothing in his actions is, from the way his tongue coaxes his mouth open to how his body presses against Hyukjae’s, and Hyukjae can’t do anything but go with it. Go past the initial awkwardness as their noses bump against each other and their teeth clash, speed right through it as if it never happened in the first place, and let Jongwoon kiss the air out of his lungs.

Hyukjae’s hands end up cupping Jongwoon’s face somehow, his fingers resting against his skin as their lips chase each other. His cheeks are soft, he distractedly realizes, and he can’t help but brush the pads of his thumbs across his jawline. Keep his hands there when their mouths come apart gasping for air.

“How did you get here?” Jongwoon asks, his voice betraying how out of breath they both are, and Hyukjae wallows in the sound, lets it wash all over him in a satisfied daze. “Car?”

“Subway,” Hyukjae says, unable to hide his own panting. “Why?”

“I need to get my hands on you, properly,” Jongwoon says, and whatever Hyukjae was planning to say dies on his tongue. “Can’t do that here. We can take my car.”

“But, um,” Hyukjae rushes to say, his thoughts still scrambled. Jongwoon’s mouth is red, slick with saliva and merely an inch away from him, and it’s going straight to his bloodstream. “What about the others?”

“I’m guessing Heechul will be busy, and we all came with different cars,” Jongwoon says, clearly in a rush to get it out, and Hyukjae nods shakily, too distraught to form coherent sentences. “They can take care of our stuff on their own for once.”

“Okay,” is the only thing Hyukjae says, and Jongwoon’s face lights up in a subtle smile that leaves him even more breathless. Asking for more. “Okay, yeah.”

“I live alone,” Jongwoon says, just as Hyukjae mumbles, “My roommate has his girlfriend over tonight.”

Jongwoon erupts in a subdued laugh that reverberates against Hyukjae’s ribcage, and it’s only then that it sinks in how Jongwoon hasn’t let go of his body yet.

“Well, that works out, doesn’t it?” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

Hyukjae has no complaints to that, and so he follows after him, trying not to be too disappointed the second Jongwoon’s hands aren’t on his body anymore. He doesn’t realize just how _empty_ it feels without that contact until they hastily make their way to Jongwoon’s car and Jongwoon’s hand lands on his thigh while he drives.

It’s a cliché move, Hyukjae knows that much—but he’ll be damned if he said it doesn’t work. He almost flinches when he feels the touch, but Jongwoon doesn’t react to it, and simply lets his fingers rest against his leg. Hyukjae swallows and resorts to glancing outside, trying not to focus too much on the way his index finger is drawing minuscule circles on his thigh. A small gesture, but enough to make Hyukjae wish they weren’t still trapped in a car.

His wish comes true when Jongwoon pulls into a parking lot, and the thought he recognizes the area—which can only mean they don’t live that far away from each other, and he isn’t sure what to do with this newfound knowledge—just passes him by and gets lost in the sea of any other, less important, thought.

The second the elevator doors open, Jongwoon’s hands are on his hips again, hastily moving up to settle around his neck as he pins him against the cold surface behind them, and Hyukjae instantly captures his mouth in another rushed kiss. The fear that there might be someone on the other end of the doors when they’ll open settles in his chest for a second, but it dissipates in a flash once it becomes clear that Jongwoon isn’t even contemplating the possibility of it.

Hyukjae’s hands card through Jongwoon’s hair, a jolt of surprise crashing through him at the discovery it’s soft under his touch.

“This was the first time I bleached it,” Jongwoon mutters on his lips, and Hyukjae almost does a double take. Are his reactions _that_ obvious? “It’s not completely fried yet.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” Hyukjae tries to defend himself, to no avail because all he receives in response is a smirk.

“Sure,” Jongwoon says just as the doors open.

Hyukjae has to hold himself back from gulping when Jongwoon grabs his wrist and takes him inside, fumbling with the keys and barely managing to slam the door closed without waking up the whole building. Hyukjae follows in his footsteps, the novelty of it all overwhelming him.

He barely has the time to take a look around the living room that Jongwoon has him pinned against the wall once again.

“I’ve seen you stare at me while I was on stage,” he says, and when it comes out as something akin to a whisper, Hyukjae knows it’s deliberate. He can only return his gaze as he stiffens into his arms, his heart running a marathon in his chest. “I hope you liked what you saw.”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Hyukjae says, surprising even himself.

Jongwoon raises an eyebrow, probably equally as surprised as Hyukjae feels. One hand brushes against his jaw, and Hyukjae’s breathing halts for a fraction of a second. Jongwoon’s thumb moves to his bottom lip, slowly luring his mouth parted, driving him insane.

He doesn’t say anything when he grabs him by the wrist again and drags him to his bedroom, nor does he falter when his hands fly to Hyukjae’s shirt, tug on it, sneak under it. The first reaction he gets out of him only manifests itself when his fingers meet Hyukjae’s stomach.

He sucks in a ragged breath, bringing their kiss to an end once again, and Hyukjae is left blinking the confusion out of his eyes.

“What do you do in life and why are you this ripped?” Jongwoon breathes out, and well, that might just be the biggest surprise of the entire night.

Hyukjae finds himself stifling a laugh under his breath, maybe for the first time since this whole thing started, and—yeah, well. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Jongwoon might have been as invested as he was—that he couldn’t wait for it either, and Hyukjae wasn’t the only one standing on the brink of insanity just from making out outside of a club.

Jongwoon wants _wants_ him.

“Why are you laughing, I’m serious,” Jongwoon says, and if Hyukjae wasn’t busy keeping something else under control, he’d be dead at the obvious pout in his voice. “You have, like, a six pack.”

“I’m a backup dancer,” Hyukjae hurriedly says, not interested in discussing his career when Kim Jongwoon is panting in front of him. “It’s nothing interesting.”

“That’s actually really interesting—”

Hyukjae shakes his head, and his next move is to swallow the rest of Jongwoon’s words with his mouth. Jongwoon takes it in stride, kissing him back as if that exchange never happened—except he’s taking Hyukjae’s shirt off now, and Hyukjae’s pretty sure his fingers linger for way longer than they need to when his hands brush against his chest. He knows he has a great body, and knows he takes care of it in a way that is sure to bring results, with the number of hours he spends in the gym and rehearsing choreographies, but it’s an ego boost all the same.

Jongwoon is touching him with an intensity that is making his head spin, his palms spread over his shoulders and his neck and his hips next, until Hyukjae’s pants join his discarded shirt on the floor. Hyukjae does the same with Jongwoon’s clothes. It’s even more rushed this time, because there is no way he’ll have the strength to do this calmly when Jongwoon’s breathing is so ragged on Hyukjae’s skin as he nibbles at his earlobe, leaves kisses all over his jawline, pushes him down on the bed. Straddles him and kisses him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Hyukjae immediately finds solace in realizing the feeling is mutual.

The kiss grows more heated, faster, and their bodies are practically glued to each other, so close Hyukjae can feel just how far Jongwoon’s interest goes. And show Jongwoon it’s reciprocated.

“Fuck,” Jongwoon breathes out. The urgency in his voice goes straight to Hyukjae’s crotch. “I—fuck. Wait—”

He pushes him back down until Hyukjae’s head is sinking into the pillow, and the next thing Hyukjae feels is Jongwoon’s hand on him, his underwear hastily shoved down to his ankles.

Hyukjae’s eyes widen before he can stop himself from doing it, but Jongwoon doesn’t even notice. His fingers wrap around his length in a calculated touch, stroking him in such a way that feels delicate and rushed at the same time. The only thing Hyukjae can do is stare at him from above, pupils blown, watching his fingertips at work and the way Jongwoon seems to know how to touch in all the right places. Following every reaction Hyukjae lets himself have, from his cock twitching under his touch, to the first moan that escapes his lips.

Jongwoon doesn’t break eye contact. He lets Hyukjae decide when he wants to look away, but Hyukjae has no intention to, doesn’t dare let go of the chance to witness the way Jongwoon’s gaze gets increasingly more lust-driven with every touch—and so their eyes stay connected, focused on each other through every time Jongwoon thumbs at the head of his cock, smears the pre-come all over it and slides his palm on the shaft with the newfound friction.

Hyukjae lets out a heavy sigh, which only turns into another soft moan when Jongwoon’s fingers lose their place in favor of his lips, and Jongwoon licks a stripe from the base of his dick up to the head, enveloping it with his tongue in a swirling movement that knocks the air out of Hyukjae’s lungs.

“Jongwoon,” Hyukjae whines, sounding completely wrecked. “Please.”

Jongwoon doesn’t let him say it twice, and happily reacts by closing his lips around the head and hollowing his cheeks before he welcomes it wholly into his mouth. Hyukjae sucks in a ragged breath and throws his head back, feeling his cock twitch again when Jongwoon trails his tongue over a thicker vein, lets it reach the base, and lets Hyukjae into his mouth again. He goes excruciatingly slow at first, but it doesn’t take much for him to pick up the pace, and soon enough Hyukjae can’t help but bend forward and comb his hand through Jongwoon’s hair like an automatic reflex until he’s pulling—pulling and pushing him down, knowing he’s hit the back of his throat.

A groan escapes his lips, and Jongwoon takes it, encourages him as he sinks deeper and lets Hyukjae fuck his mouth. He eases into it, and _fuck,_ Hyukjae could come from that sight alone. The sight of Jongwoon lowering his head in a steady rhythm, the cherry red of his stained lips when they’re at eye level every time he pulls away and dives back in once again—the look on his face, pupils blown and eyes narrow, looking at Hyukjae and Hyukjae only.

“Stop holding yourself back,” Jongwoon says, his voice husky and hoarse just like Hyukjae thought it was going to be, and Hyukjae has to focus not to let himself go right then and there. “I like hearing you moan because of me.”

“Fuck,” Hyukjae says instead, because Jongwoon is running his tongue all over his length now, leaving a trail of spit behind from his lips, and he’s not sure he can take it anymore.

Jongwoon’s intuition comes back running once again when he pulls away with the filthiest sound Hyukjae’s ever heard in his life and pulls him in for another kiss. This time the crash is much, much harsher than Hyukjae was anticipating, and the way Jongwoon chases his lips now is even more raw and borderline desperate. Hyukjae follows suit, explores Jongwoon’s mouth with his tongue, and his hands roam all over his chest, and _God,_ Jongwoon has muscles, too, why was he so surprised earlier?

He gives up on finding an answer when Jongwoon pulls back, panting, his lips swollen and slick and downright hotter than anything Hyukjae’s ever experienced.

“I want you to fuck me,” Jongwoon breathes out, and maybe Hyukjae’s heard him wrong, but Jongwoon doesn’t look like he’s anything less than one hundred percent serious. His lungs stop working for a fraction of a moment. “Okay?”

Hyukjae nods, too quickly maybe, but what else can he do? He certainly wasn’t expecting this—wasn’t expecting Jongwoon to do it, let alone _ask_ him for it, but he’ll be damned if the very thought isn’t making a mess of his ability to think.

“Okay,” he just says.

As expected, Jongwoon must sense the way his voice almost cracks at that single word, and his next reaction is one of his smiles, lopsided this time, almost endearing if it wasn’t for what they’re currently doing. Hyukjae anxiously watches him as he fishes a bottle of lube and a condom out of some drawer next to the bed, unable to calm his thoughts down.

Jongwoon climbs back up into the bed. He must have lost his underwear somewhere along the way, because if there is one thing that Hyukjae doesn’t miss, is just how hard Jongwoon is, and he can’t help but wonder. Wonder if just sucking him off was enough to get him as aroused as Hyukjae is, if Jongwoon gets off that much on it, and it’s a whole other mess he isn’t equipped to think about for more than one second.

Hyukjae doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it becomes clear when Jongwoon takes his hand in his—and Jongwoon’s is much smaller than Hyukjae’s, Hyukjae frantically realizes, and just _why_ is such a trivial detail affecting him so much—and uncaps the bottle of lube, coating his fingers until they’re slick and _cold,_ sending a shiver down his spine.

Jongwoon hastily guides his arm down, Hyukjae’s brain running at a hundred miles per hour. If there is anything that he should know by now, is that he has to stop thinking he can predict any of Jongwoon’s next moves, so when Jongwoon reverses their positions before his hand can get anywhere near his ass, it feels less surprising than if he’d carried on as normal.

He’s the one lying on the bed now, Hyukjae towering over him, but there is no doubt as to who’s in control. Who has the upper hand. Hyukjae knows he’s never had it, and the thought only makes him want more. Jongwoon takes him by the wrist, leads him to where he wants, and when the first finger pushes past his rim, he groans, drags Hyukjae down, until his lips can linger just under his jaw.

Hyukjae shudders over him, the brush of Jongwoon’s lips on his skin setting his whole body on fire. He’s not in control of the rhythm of his finger, isn’t doing anything to reclaim ownership of it—Jongwoon is guiding his hand through it, and he’s so tight around him that Hyukjae wants to scream.

“Add another one,” Jongwoon whispers, low and ragged, his bottom lip grazing his jawline, and Hyukjae does. “You’re doing so well, Hyukjae-yah. Go faster, now.”

The grip of Jongwoon’s hand on his has loosened now, giving him more space to try more on his own, but Hyukjae couldn’t be more captivated if he tried. Jongwoon’s voice resounds in his ears like a distant warning, and so he obeys it, quickens the pace of his thrusts, until Jongwoon matches him—moans on his chest. Louder, this time.

“Third,” he says, as if it’s the only thing he can muster up to voice, and Hyukjae complies, almost trembling. Jongwoon clenches around him, taking his breath away. “You’re so good, Hyukjae. You’re doing so well.”

Hyukjae shudders once again. He’s not sure if it’s the praise, or just how hot his voice sounds as he voices it, but he can’t help but bask in it, and there’s a wicked sort of pleasure in it, knowing Jongwoon is loving it, loving the way he’s following his directions so well that he deserves to be complimented for it.

He experimentally crooks one finger, encouraged by the tiny whines Jongwoon keeps making, and it’s then that one of them turns into a full-blown moan. Jongwoon lets out a heavy breath on Hyukjae’s neck, and Hyukjae can only close his eyes, feel the way his body keeps thrusting over his own, his fingers buried deep into him up to the knuckles.

It doesn’t register that Jongwoon has pulled away until the air hits his fingers again, but he doesn’t have the time to dwell on it.

The atmosphere in the room has grown heavier, and the only noise that breaks through the wall of silent expectations that is dominating between them is Jongwoon tearing open a condom. Jongwoon grabbing the bottle again and coating his own fingers with lube this time before kneeling over him and spreading it all over Hyukjae’s covered length. The cold feeling of it makes Hyukjae swallow in trepidation, breath stuck in his throat. He’s only waiting for the elder’s next move.

Jongwoon straddles him, his hands on Hyukjae’s chest, and Hyukjae was definitely not ready for it.

He’s barely in still, only the head being actually past Jongwoon’s rim, but Jongwoon feels so tight around him already that he thinks he might just implode before he’s even had a chance to go all the way down. Jongwoon catches the way he all but gasps under him, a smirk dominating his bruised lips, and Hyukjae can only stare back in amazement.

“Don’t move yet,” Jongwoon says, as if Hyukjae is able to do anything but blink the shock out of his eyes right now. He slowly but steadily lowers himself onto Hyukjae, so deliberately drawn-out and hot around him—a torture that Hyukjae welcomes with open arms. “Stay like this for a moment.”

Hyukjae obliges, and stays still. It’s ruining him, the feeling of Jongwoon opening up, along with the knowledge it’s taking everything out of him to actually follows his request. He could thrust his hips forward—fuck into him and take the edge off, but he doesn’t. The sight of Jongwoon alone is enough to keep him pinned to the bed. His hair is stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat decorating his temples, and Hyukjae never wants to get rid of that image _ever._

Jongwoon lets go all of a sudden, completely knocking the wind out of him. His cock is buried deep into him now, up to his balls, and Jongwoon’s so tight around him now that he’s all the way in, so hot and irremediably ruined on Hyukjae’s body.

“Stay still,” Jongwoon breathes out. Hyukjae bites down on his bottom lip, doesn’t make a move. Jongwoon rolls his hips, pulls away—sinks back down with a loud moan. “You’re doing great, Hyukjae, stay still like this—”

Hyukjae grabs him by the shoulders, drags him down, and only pants at Jongwoon’s whines of protest.

“I’m not moving,” Hyukjae croaks, his throat dry and his thoughts scrambled. He pulls him down again in a deep kiss, then latches onto his neck with his arms. “Keep going.”

Jongwoon lets out a deep moan that gets lost on Hyukjae’s lips as he grinds down on him, fucks himself on his cock just as Hyukjae kisses all the little sounds he makes away, lets them fall into his own throat before they can leave the space between their mouths.

“Hyung,” Hyukjae whines, his fingers digging into Jongwoon’s shoulder blades. “I can’t—ah. Stay still. Please.”

“Don’t move, Hyukjae,” Jongwoon warns, a guttural sound that escapes his throat in a rush. He thrusts harder, as if to prove his point, slamming back down onto Hyukjae’s crotch and getting a desperate moan out of him. “You’re doing great, baby. Just hold back for a while longer.”

Hyukjae nods, or at least tries to, and he knows he’s dangerously close. Jongwoon keeps giving him no room to breathe, their foreheads practically glued to each other, and he keeps looking straight at him with that piercing gaze of his, as if he can read any and all thoughts that are going through his mind. Lord knows Hyukjae himself can’t make anything of them, but he wouldn’t be surprised—not in the slightest.

“You feel so good,” Jongwoon moans, and kisses him again in a frantic rhythm that’s threatening to _ruin_ Hyukjae. “God, Hyukjae—yeah, like that.”

Hyukjae closes his eyes, and maybe he’s feeling a bit lightheaded, almost drunk. Wrecked by the way Jongwoon’s feeding on that sheer amount of pleasure only thanks to him, thanks to the way he’s restraining himself, and that makes it twice as appealing.

“Hyung, I’m close,” he whines, not missing the way Jongwoon’s ass clenches around him at the word, and he belatedly realizes that maybe he should’ve called him that all along if this was going to be his reaction. “Please—”

“Hyukjae,” Jongwoon whispers, broken and almost stuttering, and then Hyukjae’s vision blurs for a long, excruciating moment.

Jongwoon trembles over him, cries out, and comes all over Hyukjae’s stomach. Untouched, Hyukjae only processes three seconds later. Hyukjae’s hands have never gone anywhere near Jongwoon’s dick, and yet. There they are, Jongwoon sitting up as Hyukjae pulls out, removing the condom and taking care of it as if they’ve done the same thing countless times.

“Well,” Jongwoon says, snapping him out of it. “That was—”

“Hot,” Hyukjae finishes the sentence for him before he can think it through.

“Yeah.” Jongwoon rolls to the side, looking so dishevelled it’s a miracle he’s even breathing. Hyukjae forces himself not to stare, not too proud of the way the inevitable embarrassment is starting to settle down in his chest. “Hot.”

“Hmm,” Hyukjae murmurs, as neutral as he can be.

“Oh, I should clean you up,” Jongwoon perks up, like he just remembered, his lips busy in a slight pout.

Hyukjae doesn’t say anything—just watches him leave the room with a bemused look on his face. He doesn’t even have the time to start overthinking the whole situation that Jongwoon is already back, a smile on his face and a cloth in his hands. Hyukjae blinks, still kind of too out of his mind to do anything that isn’t looking at Jongwoon like he’s seeing him for the first time.

“What a mess,” Jongwoon murmurs, wiping his chest clean with the same pout lingering on his face. He chuckles to himself and leaves the used cloth on the floor without a second thought, then climbs back into bed next to Hyukjae. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Hyukjae rushes to say, the reality of what just happened actually setting in for the first time. He’s in the bed of someone he literally met two hours ago for the first time, he left Heechul back at the venue without even a text or a call to warn him, Jongwoon is still gazing up at him with that knowing look that sends shivers down his spine, and he definitely has to go. Like, right now. “I should go. I didn’t tell my roommate I was gonna be out.”

“Wasn’t your roommate the one who was gonna bring his girlfriend over?” Jongwoon says, and damn it. He wasn’t supposed to remember that detail. “You can stay. I don’t mind.”

Hyukjae bites his bottom lip, self-conscious of the fact he’s still fucking _naked._

“But—”

Jongwoon cocks an eyebrow. “But what?”

You’re going to kick me out in the morning, so what’s the point? That’s what Hyukjae wants to say. He doesn’t say it, though. Not when he still has some dignity left.

“I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“You’re not,” Jongwoon says, easily, like he’s not lying. And does Hyukjae want to believe him. “I’m being serious. Plus, it’s late. Not a good time to be out on your own.”

“Well, I’m an adult,” Hyukjae points out, only to curse himself out in his head immediately afterwards.

“Oh, I know that.” Jongwoon scrunches up his nose, a cheeky grin on his lips. Hyukjae can feel his neck starting to flush from ten seconds away. “Are you scared of me? I think that if I was a serial killer, you’d be dead already.”

Against his better judgment, Hyukjae allows himself a small laugh.

“I guess,” he says, then, “and I’m not scared of you.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be,” Jongwoon says, which seems sort of unrelated to his claim, but Hyukjae will take it. He shrugs, trying to pass it off as nonchalant, and tries to hide a yawn behind his hand. Jongwoon, always the eagle, sees it. “And you’re falling asleep.”

“I’m not,” Hyukjae mumbles, although even he knows that’s not how people who are awake speak. The damage is basically done. “I’m wide awake.”

“Sure thing,” Jongwoon says.

Hyukjae’s last thought before he falls asleep is that he truly hates condescending people, but he still doesn’t move when Jongwoon hugs him from behind and nuzzles his nose against his neck.

* * *

When Hyukjae blinks his eyes open, the first thing he sees is sunshine filtering through the window.

It takes him a good couple of minutes before his brain starts working again. One glance to the opposite side of the bed is enough to make him realize he is not where he’s supposed to be. The clothes Donghae always forgets to bring back to his own room aren’t haphazardly thrown in the corner—a record player sits there instead, a stack of neatly organized vinyl records shelved right under it, and Hyukjae’s pretty sure they don’t own a record player.

Then he looks up and sees a desk that definitely isn’t his, and—did he not go home last night?

He freezes on the spot, panic rising in his throat for a split second before the whole picture comes back to him, and then he groans and sinks his face into the pillow with an additional whine for good measure.

He knows he’s dumb, but this is a new level of dumb. Did he even tell Heechul where he was?

“Oh, there you are. I thought I’d heard shuffling.”

Hyukjae raises his head and yelps.

Jongwoon chokes back a laugh, and Hyukjae scrambles to check if the sheets are covering him. Then he realizes he slept naked and almost yelps again.

“That’s cute of you,” Jongwoon muses, looking at him with an entertained spark in his eyes. “But I saw all of that already, in case you forgot. Anyway, just thought I’d let you know I tried to make breakfast and failed completely, but the scrambled eggs survived, if you feel like some?”

Hyukjae keeps staring at him in horror, and Jongwoon chuckles to himself again.

“You can take a shower if you want,” he continues, as if Hyukjae isn’t about to have a heart attack. Jongwoon’s hair is messy, and he definitely looks like he doesn’t have anywhere to be other than his couch. He’s only wearing an oversized t-shirt—Hyukjae knows the band this time, for better or for worse—with boxers, and nothing else, and maybe Hyukjae is having problems with the staring again. “I left you a clean toothbrush and a towel in the bathroom. It’s the last door down the hallway.”

“Oh,” Hyukjae says, sounding like he hasn’t spoken in three days. “Thanks.”

Jongwoon only grins at that, and only when he leaves does Hyukjae let himself breathe again.

Seriously.

He’s being ridiculous, and he knows that. People have one night stands all the time without seeing each other again, and if Jongwoon isn’t being weird about it, why should Hyukjae be? The answer to that follows him all the way to the bathroom and through all the time he spends in the shower, but it’s easier to pretend he doesn’t know it. Delay the realization for just a bit longer.

Jongwoon is humming to himself when Hyukjae finds his way to the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, munching on a cookie and scrolling through something on his phone at the same time. He looks incredible, his features lit up in a slight smile that’s only enhanced by the late morning sun filtering through the room. Whatever he’s doing on his phone, it must be something that’s entertaining him, and Hyukjae can’t help but linger in the doorway for a while longer to observe.

He swallows the last bite of the cookie and fishes another one out right afterwards, happily tapping away a text on his phone. It almost feels wrong to intrude in such a perfect picture.

Hyukjae bites his tongue to stop himself from thinking up scenarios that make no sense. It’s just a man eating at a kitchen table, for God’s sake.

“Are you gonna stand there for much longer?” Jongwoon asks without even looking up, and Hyukjae freezes up.

“Um,” is his eloquent answer.

Jongwoon raises his head. His face lights up even more when his eyes meet Hyukjae’s, and Hyukjae truly wants to disappear off the face of the Earth.

“Come here,” he says, putting his phone down. It feels like he’s giving him his undivided attention, and maybe Hyukjae’s legs tremble a bit. “Unless you have somewhere to be? It’s Sunday, though.”

“I should probably go back to Heechul,” Hyukjae mutters, rubbing the side of his arm in distress. Jongwoon’s expression doesn’t change. “He might think I’m dead.”

“I actually talked to Jungsoo like an hour ago, so you’re good,” Jongwoon says calmly, his expression subtly different from mere seconds ago, like he’s lost in thought. “Unless you want to leave for other reasons.”

“I—uh,” Hyukjae stammers, unable to find anything to say to that. What even are his reasons? Does he feel uncomfortable? Does he want to take the band-aid off and go on his merry way, the sooner he forgets about the whole thing the better? Probably the latter. His brain doesn’t give him a coherent answer to say out loud, though. “Um.”

“Always so eloquent, aren’t you?” Jongwoon stands up, and Hyukjae instinctively takes a step back. Jongwoon’s eyes don’t leave his figure for a second as he walks up to him, and maybe he should’ve just run for his fucking life. “Guess I’m actually misreading the signs, this time.”

Hyukjae swallows. “What signs?”

“If you wanted to make this a one-time thing, it’s fine with me,” Jongwoon says, shrugging. He’s in Hyukjae’s personal space again, but Hyukjae doesn’t retreat this time. “I’d rather push for the opposite, but I’m fine with it.”

“You—you want to see me again?” Hyukjae says, almost stumbling on his words through the surprise. “Oh.”

“Why—” Realization dawns on Jongwoon’s face, and he’s laughing again. “Oh, you thought—uh. See, no, that’s not it.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Hyukjae whines, a bit intimidated by how the situation is evolving. Jongwoon wants what now?

“You’re so clueless, it’s actually really cute.” Jongwoon brings a hand to his face, but all he does is brush his fingers against Hyukjae’s cheek. Hyukjae just knows his ears are turning red, but there is not much he can do about it. “Are you gonna sit down with me now, or do you still want to flee the scene?”

“Alright, alright, no need to be that insufferable about it,” Hyukjae grunts as he pushes his hand away, his cheeks starting to flush while he marches straight to the table and pulls a chair out without giving him a second glance.

Jongwoon shakes his head in the corner of his eye, and then sits back down in front of him with a grin on his face.

“Nice shirt,” Hyukjae mutters, still avoiding his gaze as he pointedly focuses on the cookie in his hand.

“Oh, thanks,” Jongwoon says happily, warming up that feeling of satisfaction bubbling inside Hyukjae’s chest. “I just think Radiohead invented music, I don’t know about you.”

“Nerd,” Hyukjae says, testing the waters.

“Thom Yorke’s number one fanboy, thank you,” Jongwoon shoots back without missing a beat.

The smile is still on his face when Hyukjae looks up, causing his stomach to do a backflip, and he can’t help but think that maybe _he_ should be the one treating Heechul to dinner sometime.

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve had this idea harassing me for a while, so i finally caved t__t i’m kinda rusty with the smut but!!! i hope you enjoyed :]  
> if anyone’s curious, the tom brady song is [total football by parquet courts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sP9l9HBJ1o0)! gosh just imagine yesung singing that 
> 
> if you don't care to see my unrelated screaming, find me on my [writing focused account](http://twitter.com/parallelshyuk), otherwise i'm over at my [personal twt](http://twitter.com/homewithkyu) and on [curious cat](http://curiouscat.qa/parallelshyuk) ^^


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